Nothing Is Ever Perfect
by Melissa2
Summary: This isn't really a Twilight Zone fan fic, but there is no category for it. It wouldn't really ever happen so I figured it would fit here. It's a Late Night With Conan O'Brien fic. Please read and review, if you want to.
1. Rated PG

Author's Note: This isn't Twilight Zone fan fic, as I said in the story description. It's based on Late Night with Conan O'Brien. I don't own Late Night or Conan O'Brien, and none of this is real. Not a word of it. And everyone that I didn't create is probably way out of character a lot of the time. I really appreciate reviews, if you do read the story.  
  
  
  
  
"Here it is." Victor, my agent, grinned as he handed me the first copy of my novel.   
  
"Wow." I stared into the glossy cover and wondered how so much work could come in such a little package. Those pages contained my heart and soul poured out onto paper. For the first time in months, I allowed myself to smile. Six months of sleepless nights and incessant work had all culminated to this moment. Somehow, I thought it should be different than this. I thought seeing Melanie Franklin on the cover of a novel would bring me joy. Doubt still filled my mind concerning this novel's success. It could be just another flop that no one reads. Starton Publishing could never even read a query from me again. Morning Glory could end up just another source of depression in a troubled life. Only time could tell now.  
  
"Don't worry about it, Mel. Just let things happen...and get some sleep. I know you haven't had one good night's sleep since you became a client to me. You're only 18, but you look about 30 right now." Victor patted my shoulder. "You really have a talent. And I know that you're gonna make it someday, hon."  
  
"Thanks. I think I will go take a nap now...but what if someone calls about the book?"  
  
"It doesn't go out into the stores until tomorrow. Just sleep until then. If not for you, do it for me. And if it makes you feel better, I'll have any calls for you forwarded to the apartment. I'll be there in a few hours."  
  
"You're the best, Victor. I couldn't ask for a better agent or a truer friend." I walked slower than I ever had to the door before turning around. Victor was behind me, as if to keep me from changing my mind. I gave him a long hug and peck on the cheek before leaving the office. He had done so much for me as an author and as a person.  
  
I hurried up to the apartment I was staying in while I was in New York. It was Victor's apartment, but he had a spare bedroom he was letting me use during this crucial time period in my writing career. The apartment was disorganized, as usual. With all the time he spent in the office and his usual lack of a roommate, Victor had little time to devote to cleaning. I knew there was no way I could sleep, so I began organizing the apartment.   
  
It was mindless work and gave me an opportunity to play out my future in my mind. I began with the future if my novel was another horrible review, and I did not become famous. I would become a starving journalist, just trying to survive by hopping from newspaper to newspaper in search of articles to write. That sounds so pleasant. Everyone wants to live an impoverished life of pain and ruin. If this novel is successful, though, my life could be wonderful. That just won't happen. When things start to improve, they crash down around my feet.  
  
My thoughts were interruped when I heard something being dropped on the floor. I whipped around and saw Victor, his mouth gaping open.  
  
"I told you to sleep, not clean my apartment. But it does look great, best it's been since I bought it." He kicked off his shoes and removed his coat before trudging across the room to the refrigerator. He opened it. "You cleaned this out, too. Half the food's gone. Expired?"  
  
"Yep. I had to throw it away. And I couldn't sleep at all." I decided not to mention I hadn't set foot in my bedroom, other than to clean it.  
  
"I would tell you to take some more of my sleeping pills, but you've taken them the past seven nights in a row. I don't want you getting addicted." He grabbed a carton of orange juice from the remaining food and opened it, chugging it straight from the carton.  
  
I cringed. This was one of the three male habits I simply couldn't stand. "You just drank it from the carton again."  
  
He continued chugging for ten or fifteen seconds and slammed the carton down on the counter victoriously. "I drank all of it so you can't complain."  
  
"You got me there. Don't forget to put the carton in the trash." I gestured at the trash can near my bedroom door.  
  
Victor tossed the carton at the trash can, missing. I had to admit he did put forth some effort, though. I picked up the carton and dropped it into the trash can. Sometimes men really confuse me.  
  
"You made my bed! I haven't been in a girl-made bed in years!" It was astonishing how something so simple could make Victor elated. If I would have known this is his reaction to me making his bed, I would have started doing it the day I moved here.  
  
"I'm glad you like it." I crept to my bedroom and pulled the door almost shut. I slipped out of my clothes and into my nightgown before my strong exterior was broken. The tears flowed down my cheeks before I began sobbing into my pillow. My future depended on this novel. I chose to graduate halfway through my senior year, without an honors diploma, because of my writing. That eliminates any chance of scholarships I might have had. It's only January, and college, if I go to one, doesn't begin until September.   
  
"Don't cry." A warm whisper soothed me, and I soon felt the presence of comforting arms around me. I lifted my head from the pillow and laid it on Victor's shoulder.  
  
"But my life could be ruined beyond fixing really soon. I don't want to lose everything." I held back the tears and sobs, but still trembled with every breath.  
  
"What do you want?"   
  
"I...I want to keep doing what I love doing. I want to keep writing. Nothing else makes me happy."  
  
"Do you call what you're feeling now happy?"  
  
"No...but that's because everything is on the line right now."  
  
"Were you happy when you were working on the last chapters of the novel when we first met?"  
  
"No. But that's because I thought no one would publish me. What's the point you're trying to make?"  
  
"Stop worrying, Melanie. Everything is going to happen like it's supposed to happen. I know it's hard for you to see, but this novel doesn't mean that much in your overall career. Lots of authors starting out don't make it at first. It takes time, usually. If this novel doesn't work out, then you can stay here and be my maid. All you have to do is clean the house occassionally, and you can spend the rest of the time writing. How does that sound?"  
  
I began crying uncontrollably again. "Thank you," I managed to whimper between sobs.   
  
"Shhhhhhhh." He hushed me as I grew very weary. The emotional stress had really taken its toll on me. My eyes closed when he began rocking back and forth. A sweet warmth and peace engulfed me as I drifted off.  
  
I opened my eyes and saw a pair of pale blue eyes looking into mine. A smile spread across my face. For once I actually had a very good night's rest. I glanced over at the alarm clock and saw it was already past noon.  
  
"I called in sick on the phone by the bed. I didn't want to wake you up." Victor still held me in his arms, but we were laying on my bed instead of sitting like we had been when I fell asleep.  
  
"Thanks. This is the first time I've slept in a couple of days. I feel so...alive and vibrant now."   
  
"You look so much more beautiful when you aren't tense and uptight. Your eyes go from this hard and icy blue to warm pools of periwinkle."  
  
The compliments surprised me, in a much too pleasant way. My common sense flew out the window, and before I gained control of my emotions again, I was kissing Victor. It was electric and spread liquid sparks throughout my body. His sweet lips lingered on mine for a fleeting moment before we parted. Silence fell between us, and slight embarrassment filled the air. I was speechless, overwhelmed by emotions from a realm I had yet to explore. Before I left high school, I had one boyfriend. We kissed a few times, but those kisses were more obligatory than driven by emotion and lacked the spark this kiss had. This kiss scared me. It was intoxicating and tempting, more addictive than any drug. After a single taste, it is impossible to return to the former state of being. The desire will be there, and one can only wait so long before gratifying it.   
  
I opened my mouth to speak, but the ringing of the phone saved me. Victor picked it up in an almost reluctant matter. "Hello," he squeaked before clearing his voice. "Yes, this is Victor Harmon...Morning Glory went into the stores this morning." A long pause ensued that filled my stomach with nervous anticipation. Someone was on the telephone talking about my book. "Yes, sir, I'll tell her that. Thank you for calling me. Goodbye."  
  
"What is it?" I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the worst.  
  
"Some of the elite here somehow got their hands on your book a week before even you had it. They have finished it, and obviously have been recommending it to everyone because your book has sold out of almost every store in New York. And it's not even one yet." He beamed and gave me his 'I told you that everything would work out' look.  
  
"This is wonderful! But I'm not going to think that this means my novel will be successful. This is just one day. Everyone could burn their copy tomorrow for all I know." I knew that I had to keep a realistic perspective. The higher one allows themselves to get, the harder it is to recover from the fall that will later come.  
  
"Be happy, Mel! Let's celebrate! We can...bake a cake!" He was more excited than I had ever seen him.   
  
If he wanted to bake a cake, I had no objections. "Why not? We'll have to go buy some supplies, but that's no big deal. What kind of cake do you want?"  
  
"It's your novel day, but I love chocolate cake with chunks of chocolate and walnuts and chocolate icing with chocolate chips and chocolate shavings on top."  
  
I couldn't help but laugh. That cake sounded like something a depressed woman would make to cheer herself up, definitely not something a man who is celebrating would make. I do love chocolate, though, so the cake did sound tempting. "Yes, that sounds like a good cake."  
  
We went to the market and bought the ingredients. On the way home, a woman recognized me and asked me to sign her novel. I was surprised, but Victor acted as if it is something natural. We made the cake and celebrated for hours.  
  
Several weeks passed, and the novel's success was increasing rapidly. I had begun writing my second novel and already had four chapters. Victor and I grew closer, and the wonderful kisses progressed to much more. We now spent almost every hour of every day together. I went into the office with him and wrote at a desk in the corner while he conducted his business. Everything seemed so perfect. I had never enjoyed life this much before.  
  
The phone rang while Victor and I were in his office, something I had grown accustomed to. He received hundreds of calls, and this one seemed no different from the others at first.  
  
"You would like for her to appear in two weeks on the Friday show?" Victor looked happy when I glanced over at him. "I'll ask her, if you'll wait a moment." He put his hand on the mouth piece and looked over at me.  
  
"Is it about me?" I stood and stepped across the room to the desk.  
  
"The talent coordinator from Late Night with Conan O'Brien would like to know if you are interested in appearing on the show two weeks from this Friday."  
  
"Of course I am!" I had watched Late Night a lot in the past when I had insomnia and couldn't write. It was one of my favorite shows and always made me laugh regardless of how horrible a day had gone. For a long time I had wanted to go to a taping of the show, but time and my busy schedule had prevented me from doing it. For the past month, since Morning Glory was published, it had just slipped to the back of my mind.  
  
Victor hung up the phone. "It's all set up. They're faxing us the times and everything. But I don't think I'll be able to come watch. I have to meet a client up in Albany that afternoon. I'll try to make it, though, if I can."  
  
"I understand. We can watch it together when it airs on TV." I was disappointed, but tried not to show it. Victor knew me well enough to realize that I really wanted him to be there, though.  
  
Two weeks passed quickly and soon it was the day I was to be on the show. I had prepared for my appearance the best I could. Even though it is against my usual motto that physical appearance doesn't matter, I had gone to several different beauty related businesses to make myself look beautiful. I took a cab down to Rockefeller Center and entered studio 6A to be greeted by none other than Conan O'Brien.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Rated PG

I waited for fifteen minutes near the studio entrance to greet Melanie Franklin, the author who was booked for the second guest slot on the show. The actor in the first guest slot had called this morning and told us he has mono. He has been on the show several times and is familiar with the routine of interviewing. Melanie now has to do two segments, and her agent told me she has no experience being in front of the camera. I knew this day just wasn't going to be very good. Lynn and I had another fight. This one was probably the worst of any. She said she was moving out and never wanted to see me again before I left for work this morning. It isn't the first time she has threatened to move out. To top off all of that, I had a headache. If the show went well, though, it would all be worth the day I was having.  
  
Finally, a woman entered the studio doors. She was bundled up in a long black coat and scarf. I could barely see her under all of the layers. She pulled off her scarf and hood.  
  
"I'm Conan O'Brien. Welcome to the studio." I extended my hand to her.  
  
"I'm Melanie Franklin. Thank you for having me as a guest." She fumbled with her gloves for a moment before finally getting them off and shook my hand.  
  
"You can take your things to the green room. We're going to begin rehearsal soon. There has been a change of plans, though. You aren't going to do a single segment like you were told. You'll be doing two."  
  
"I'm pretty boring person. I hope I don't end up putting the audience to sleep." She laughed. "I'm working on a second novel, if you need more things for us to talk about. It's a lot different from Morning Glory."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind. Make-up is down the hall. You'll go there after the rehearsal. The rehearsal won't be very formal, and it's usually a lot more relaxed than the actual taping. Have you ever been on camera before?" We walked towards the green room, down the corridor lined with pictures.  
  
"No, but I'm looking very forward to it. I spoke in front of people during my classes before I graduated. Wow, that's a lot of pictures." She was engrossed in the pictures on the walls.  
  
I explained several of them to her when she asked about them. She tossed her coat, gloves and scarf into a chair in the green room. She was a very beautiful woman. Her black leather pants and red blouse accented her features perfectly. I found myself staring when she had her back turned, but I stopped when she turned around.  
  
"We're going to rehearse the monologue and the first sketch before you come out. You just stay here and wait for me to announce your entrance."   
  
"I can do that." She smiled and leaned back against the wall.  
  
We rehearsed my monologue, which went well, and then the first sketch. The sketch needed a little work, but it would be fine by the time we were taping.  
  
"Now for the author of the best-selling novel Morning Glory, Melanie Franklin!" I walked over to greet her with the customary kiss on the cheek for a female guest and returned to my desk as she sat down. "We aren't really going to rehearse what you'll say. But I have this blue card." I handed the blue card to her. "That's what we're supposed to talk about. Just read over it and think about the topics a little bit before we tape. If you do that, then you'll do just fine."  
  
"I will. I've watched the show before so I know how everything is supposed to look."  
  
The rest of the rehearsal was without major incident. I greeted the audience when they arrived and then prepared myself for the taping. Finally, it was 5:30 and time to tape. The monologue went really well, and the first sketch was flawless. My headache was subsiding, and my bad day was getting better. Melanie acted very comfortable despite the fact she had never been on camera before. She was funny, and the audience was enjoying the segment. We had an undeniable comedy chemistry. She knew exactly how to set me up for a good joke. The second guest, an actor named Tim Quinton, was lacking what Melanie had, and the audience didn't seem to be enjoying themselves very much. Even when I did add jokes, Tim seemed to ruin them every time. He definitely wasn't coming back to be a guest again.   
  
The taping ended, and the guests and I signed autographs for the audience. They were all gone by 7:30. I spotted Melanie near the studio doors, looking very worried. I approached her slowly.  
  
"Is everything okay?"  
  
"Victor was supposed to pick me up at 7:00. He told me his appointment in Albany would last until 5:00, and he would be here at no later than 7:00."   
  
"I'm sure he's just running late or caught in traffic. That happens here in New York."   
  
One of the interns came running towards us with a ringing cellular phone in her hand. "It's your cell phone, Miss Franklin. It's been ringing for five minutes."  
  
She took it from the intern as he left and answered it. "Hello. Yes, I know Vincent Harmon...What happened?" All of the blood drained from her face as whoever it was on the other line talked to her. "I'll be there in an hour or two at the most." She hung up the cell phone and dropped to her knees. Her green eyes filled with tears.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" I leaned down until I was eye to eye with her.  
  
"Victor died," she whimpered. "He was in a car accident about twenty miles from here an hour ago. They rushed him to the hospital, but it was too late. They found my cell phone number in his pocket, and they decided to call me to see if I was a relative or anything. Now, they want me to go down to the morgue to identify his body because he wasn't carrying any positive identification, only some business cards. He was my best friend and so much more to me. He's the only person within 500 miles that I could call a friend at all. How could this happen?"  
  
I hated to see her hurting so much, but I knew there was little I could say to make it any better. Since I wasn't looking at all forward to seeing Lynn again, I asked, "Do you want me to go with you to the morgue?"  
  
"You don't have to do that. I know you're a busy person, and I wouldn't want to waste your time."  
  
"No, it's no trouble at all. I didn't have any plans for tonight. I want to go with you, if you want me to." I stood and offered my hand to help her up. She pulled herself up and brushed off her pants.  
  
"Thank you. I would like to have some company. I've never been fond of funerals or anything like that."  
  
"I don't think anyone is. I'm really sorry this happened to you."  
  
"It's part of life and something we all have to cope with at one time or another. I'm just surprised I haven't had to cope with it more. I've been rather fortunate."  
  
"I could drive down to the hospital. It's on my way home. Then, I could drop you off where you live."  
  
"I think I'm going to try to find a hotel to stay in tonight. I was staying in Victor's apartment, and I don't think I'm ready to go back there yet."  
  
"You have to have reservations weeks in advance to stay in hotels anywhere near here. There's no way you'll find a vacancy for tonight right now." We walked out to my car. She sat in the passenger's side in the front, and I started driving to the hospital.  
  
"I can still call around. Maybe there will be something available."  
  
"And if there isn't?"  
  
"I'll probably end up sitting in one of those cappuchino houses that's opened twenty-four hours a day sipping mocha until morning."  
  
I sighed. She was obviously unaware of the crowds that usually were in those cappuchino houses. They are the type that would have read Morning Glory and would hound Melanie for hours, even after she leaves the place. New York isn't a safe place for a famous, beautiful young woman, especially at night. I didn't know what to tell her to do, though. The only place she seemed to have to go was the apartment she had shared with Victor, unless I asked a favor of Samantha, the woman who owned the apartment across the hall. Samantha had a daughter who was home from college for the month, and it might be good for Melanie to be with someone near her own age. I decided to call Samantha when we were at the hospital to see what she thought of the idea. It suddenly occurred to me that I was going totally out of my way to help someone I had just met hours ago. I have always tried to help others and be a generous person, but this was farther than I had ever gone before. Then again, she was like no one I had met before. I shook myself from my thoughts and pulled into the hospital parking lot.   
  
We got out of the car in silence and entered the hospital. There were many in the waiting area, some injured and others reading magazines while they were waiting for word on the condition of their friend or family member. Every thirty seconds a gurney sped towards the emergency room.  
  
"I'm going to go to the bathroom before we go down to the morgue." She walked away, and I pulled out my cell phone to call Samantha. She loved the idea of having Melanie stay with her daughter for the night. I thanked her as Melanie returned.   
  
"You can stay with my neighbor in the apartment across the hall for the night, if you would like."   
  
"I hate to cause your neighbor any inconvenience, but I would like to. Thank you so much for doing all of this for me. I feel really bad for wasting so much of your time."  
  
"You're not wasting any of my time. It's not your fault that all of this happened."   
  
"You don't know how much this all means to me." She glanced up at the directory for the hospital rooms. "The morgue is that way." She pointed and began walking towards a long white corridor.  
  
"How long did you know Victor?"  
  
"For several months. I published some poetry through him before the novel. Then, I moved in with him two and a half months ago when I was finishing up the last chapters of the novel. He had a spare bedroom that he let me use so that we could work together on the final touches of the novel. He's one of the best writers I've ever met. But he met some failure several years ago that he couldn't recover from so he became an agent. Sorry I started babbling." She blushed a deep pink shade.  
  
"You weren't babbling. I don't mean to pry, but were you just friends?"  
  
"No, we were together as a couple for the last month and a half. He was my first serious boyfriend, and I miss him so much already. It still seems unreal, though. I feel like I'll go back to the apartment, and he'll be there waiting for me as usual. And I'll find out all of this was a horrible practical joke, you know what I mean?"  
  
"That's how a lot of people handle death, by pretending the person is just on vacation or moved away." We were at the morgue, and she stopped dead in her tracks.  
  
"When I go in here, I won't be able to pretend anymore."   
  
She took two steps forward and pushed the cold steel doors opened. I followed her. The stench of chemicals and disinfectants permeated the rectangular white room. My eyes burned for a moment before they adjusted.  
  
"Are you Melanie Franklin?" A petite doctor in a white smock approached us.  
  
"Yes, I'm Melanie Franklin."  
  
"The body is this way."  
  
Melanie took my hand in hers and intertwined our fingers. Her hand was trembling and her palm was shaking. She squeezed my hand as we stood in front of the gurney. The body was covered in a long blue sheet. Her hand squeezed mine so tight it was almost unbearable. The doctor threw the sheet halfway down the corpse. The head was deformed. The skull had several deep concaves, and the body had many lacerations of varying depths. Melanie stared at it for two seconds before grabbing me and burying her face in my shoulder. She clung to me for dear life. I felt her small body convulsing with sobs, and soon the tears had drenched my shirt.  
  
"Is that Victor Harmon?" The doctor was becoming very impatient.  
  
"No, uncontrollable sobbing when she sees the guy means that she's never seen him before in her life."  
  
The doctor didn't look amused in the least. "I'll put that it is Victor Harmon. And this was in his jacket pocket. It has her name on it." The doctor handed me a small box. I slipped it into my pocket and decided to give to Melanie later. "Now I want both of you out of my morgue."  
  
Melanie released her grip on me and staggered foward. I put an arm around her and guided her towards the exit of the morgue. We left the warm hospital to be greeted by cold evening air. The same silence that had accompanied entering the hospital accompanied leaving it. We both got in the car, and I drove to my apartment building. I was suprised to see Lynn's car wasn't there. She was almost always home after 8:00.  
  
"I don't think I'll ever be able to get the image back from the morgue out of my mind." She broke the silence. "It's almost like when I saw my favorite pet dog dead. I can't see him when he was alive in my head anymore. He was a good person. He didn't deserve to die. Why didn't some evil murderer die instead? He was only twenty-seven. Some really old person should have died, not him."  
  
I had asked myself the same questions before and come to the same conclusions. Death was unfair, but still necessary. It was something you had to come to terms with on a personal level and that no one could take the pain away from. I wanted to offer words of comfort, but I lacked them. "Everyone dies sometime. And everything happens for a reason."  
  
"Maybe there will be some good that comes of this. But it's hard to think that way right now."  
  
We went up to the hall my apartment was in. I knocked on Samantha's door and was greeted by her daughter. "You must be Melanie. I'm Cassie." She smiled and ushered Melanie in.  
  
"Thank you for doing this," I said when Samantha came to the door.  
  
"It's no trouble at all. Cassie is going to really enjoy this. More than anything, you're helping me. Cassie hasn't seen any of her friends in weeks. Goodnight, Conan."  
  
"Goodnight, Samantha." I turned around and pulled out my apartment key. I unlocked the door and opened it, flipping on the lights. I pulled my coat off and draped it over my arm. What I saw next caused me to drop everything.  



	3. Rated PG-13

Author's Note: This chapter is more PG-13 than PG, but you can't rate single chapters. If you aren't 13, then I don't recommend you read this. You have been warned.  
  
  
"Lynn." Every trace of her ever being in my apartment was gone. Her threats that she was going to move out weren't just idle. She meant it. I noticed a white piece of paper on the table and picked it up.   
  
  
Dear Conan,  
You're probably asking yourself why all of my things are gone. Our relationship hasn't been like it was at the beginning lately. We've grown apart, and there's really no point trying to save something that is no longer there. I have always and I still do care for you. I just need more personal attention that you have the time to give me. Don't misunderstand this. It isn't your fault or my fault. We obviously aren't meant to be. It was fun for me while it lasted. I hope you feel the same.   
Yours truly,  
Lynn  
  
  
I couldn't blame her. I understood what she meant about me not giving her much attention lately. Since it was sweeps time, I had been working a lot to get the ratings up. I had also been spending a lot of time by myself. I still loved her, though. I guess I just didn't tell her that enough. The pain was numbing. I wouldn't really be feeling it until tomorrow. I was really glad I had the next week off.   
  
Hudson, my golden retriever, came running into the room and jumped up on my legs. I leaned down and scratched him behind his ears. He followed me to the couch. I plopped down and turned on the television. When I moved over for him to sit beside me, I realized that the box the morgue worker had given me for Melanie was still in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was a small fancy black box that looked appropriate for some sort of collectible or jewelry. I debated over whether to open it or not for a moment before I did. Even though it was her box, there might be something inside she doesn't want to see.  
  
A beautiful golden ring with three stones in it and a folded piece of paper were within it. I unfolded the paper carefully, hoping this note was more pleasant than the last I had read.  
  
  
The diamond represents my love for you: resistant to time and impossible to be broken  
The starred sapphire represents you: a shining star in a sea of others who are afraid to shine  
The black stone with white exposed on it represents me: worthless coal transforming into something much more precious, a diamond, because of you  
The gold band surrouding the gems represents what we could become if you accept my proposal: a unified band, a circle of strength and love with no end and no beginning  
  
  
Reading his planned proposal brought tears to my eyes. He really did love Melanie, and I could she felt the same. Giving this to her now would make it much more difficult to cope, but this is hers. I wanted desperately to call her and show her the ring. I wanted someone to share my pain with who knows right now what it is to have lost someone that they loved. I couldn't do this to her, though.  
  
Hudson climbed up on my lap and licked my face sympathetically. Petting him was very soothing, as I watched the television blankly. Hours passed and soon I was watching my own show. My monologue had just began when I heard a light knock on the door. I pushed Hudson off of my lap and answered it. To my suprise, it was Melanie.  
  
"Did I wake you?" She was still wearing the same dress that she had been when I saw her last. Her face was tearstreaked, and she was trembling.  
  
"No, I was up. Are you all right?"  
  
"They're asleep." She gestured at the door. "And I can't sleep."  
  
"Would you like to keep me company?"  
  
"Very much so. Thank you."  
  
I ushered her in. "You can watch the show with me, if you want."  
  
She nodded, and I headed over to the couch with her closely behind me. Hudson was asleep, and I moved him so I could sit down. He woke up and laid on my lap again. Melanie sat down on the edge of the couch, as far as she could be from me without sitting on the floor. As the show progressed through the first sketch, she had relaxed and moved closer.   
  
"I look different on television," she commented as she watched herself walk out on stage. "I'm much prettier."  
  
"You're pretty all of the time." I often complimented women like this, but this time I really meant it.  
  
"Why thank you." She smiled weakly before returning to her depressed state. "I don't look as nervous as I felt."  
  
"You were great. I haven't had a guest as funny as you are in a long time."   
  
"Thank you again. You're always very funny." She yawned and kicked off her shoes as the show went into a commercial break. "Do you have a girlfriend?"  
  
"Why do you ask?"  
  
"Is that ring on the table for her? It's beautiful." She leaned forward and looked at the ring.  
  
I mentally chastised myself for leaving it out when I went to answer the door. I took a deep breath. "That ring isn't mine. The morgue worker gave it to me and said that Vincent had it. It was for you. Read the note beside it, too. It explains the ring."  
  
She picked up the note and began to read it. Her eyes filled with tears, and she was sobbing by the time she put it down. "Why does it have to hurt so much? Why did he have to die? It was so...unexpected. And it was my fault! If I hadn't insisted that he pick me up from the taping, then he wouldn't have died."  
  
"It's not your fault, Melanie. You had nothing to do with his death. He loved you, and even if it was your fault, he would forgive you."  
  
"And now I'm mad at him...I think I might even hate him for dying. Everything was so perfect before, and now everything is ruined. My life is ruined. He's the best agent in the world, and he was my best friend in the world. My writing career is ruined, and my relationships are ruined. I have no where to go because I can't go back to the apartment. My life is ruined." She was slumped over, her head hanging and in her hands as she cried.  
  
"Everything will work out. Just give it all a little time. I'm hurting like you are, too. I understand."  
  
"You are?" She lifted her head and looked up at me.  
  
"My girlfriend just left me this evening. She used to live here." I couldn't figure out why I was telling her all of this. I needed release as much as she did, but telling her wasn't the answer.   
  
"I'm sorry." She hugged me. "I'm really sorry. Don't let it get you down, though. If it was meant to be, then you will be together eventually. If not, then you will find someone very special soon."  
  
She had gone from unable to express her own emotions and crying to a comforting friend. It was amazing that she could think coherently after this. I instinctively laid my head on her shoulder. She was smaller than me, and in a more painful emotional situation, but was the one providing me with comfort.  
  
"Yes, it will all be fine. Don't even think about it right now. You didn't need her." She began to cough hoarsely, apparently trying to stop the fit.  
  
"Would you like something to drink?" I reluctantly wiggled out of her embrace.  
  
"Yes, please," she said.  
  
"Do you like vodka?" I opened up my cabinet of liquor.  
  
"I guess we'll see, won't we?"   
  
"You haven't had vodka?"  
  
"I haven't had anything alcoholic to drink before."  
  
"You must have a lot of self-control." I thought back to my college years. She had just graduated and had nothing to drink. "Are you sure you want to drink?"  
  
"Definitely. Let me try some." She hopped off the couch and stood next to me. "This bottle looks interesting."  
  
"That's..." I opened the bottle and smelled its contents. "That's whiskey."  
  
She took the bottle from me and downed half of its contents in a matter of ten or fifteen seconds. "That tastes...weird. But I like it." She finished off the bottle.  
  
"That's really potent stuff. You probably shouldn't drink that much, especially if you haven't had any before."  
  
"I want something different now." She grabbed another bottle and examined it.  
  
"That's gin." I grabbed a pair of glasses from the cabinet.   
  
"Can we have this, too?"   
  
"Tequila." I sighed. She seemed to naturally be choosing the most potent drinks.  
  
"Oh! We're on TV again!" She returned to the couch with the bottles. "It's the second part now."  
  
I poured two glasses of gin and gave one to her. We watched television, and actually had a good time, even though we were both hurting a lot. Soon, we were very drunk, her especially. Tango music began playing on one of the sketches on Later.   
  
"Let's dance! I want to tango!" She jumped off of the couch and stumbled a bit before regaining her balance.  
  
"I have a CD somewhere with dance music on it."  
  
"We can dance now with the TV music. Teach me how to tango."  
  
I knew how to tango, so I began teaching her. She was a natural, even though she tripped over her own two feet a few times. After the music ended, we continued dancing. When I dipped her, what ensued was like a movie scene. Our lips met in a gentle kiss that grew more passionate as we rose. That kiss was followed by many more, and everything soon became a blur of fervent ardor.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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